


Getting Caught in the Rain

by RileyC



Category: Oz - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:03:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby's at a bar to meet a blind date. Things don't turn out exactly the way he was expecting.</p><p>Written for a Valentine's Day challenge at Oz Wishing Well on LJ, and 'inspired' by the Rupert Holmes song "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Caught in the Rain

This couldn't possibly be a good thing.

That was the main thing going through my head, standing there on the pavement outside O'Malley's, thunder rumbling off in the distance. If that wasn't a portent of doom, then I don't know what would be.

Still -- I heaved a sigh and squared my shoulders -- I'd gotten this far. Be kind of ridiculous to turn around and run now. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

Trying not to dwell on that too much, I pushed the door open and went into the bar, and felt a fresh twitch of alarm that wasn't soothed away by the easy jazz in the air. Although at least this worry had familiarity going for it. At the time it had seemed harmless enough to meet up here; I could handle it fine. Now, though, the smell of the booze and the liquid sound as it was poured out, ice cubes cracking and tinkling -- oh man. Yes, all things considered, maybe I should have written back to say let's meet down at the Dairy Queen.

But no, I could do this. I had to. My love affair with the bottle had already cost me way too much. I couldn't afford anymore. It was time for a new start all the way. Everyone kept telling me that, so I would give this a chance and see what happened. Slim odds of being on the verge of meeting Miss Right, that only happened in old movies starring Jimmy Stewart, but at least I would have dabbled my toes in the water to see how it felt.

So, who was she, my first step on the road to another shot at happily ever after? We had agreed to wear red carnations so we could spot each other, and mine was tucked in my lapel as I walked along, discreetly checking. The redhead with the pixie face and a silver ring in her left eyebrow? She'd be worth it to see the look on Mother's face. But no, no carnation in sight. Okay, the tall and willowy blonde looking bored? She had the right look, although I have to admit to a partiality to brunettes, but no, no carnation to be seen there, either. Hmm.

Scanning the place, I couldn't see anyone displaying the flower in the question. Although -- I looked again, my eyes tracking the lone splash of red, the carnation neatly laid out on a white cocktail napkin over at a booth by the window; the booth's occupant in worn jeans and a black leather jacket. Not a problem, not really, it was just, well, my expectations had been running in a really different direction.

All right, suck it up; no big deal. We would have a laugh over it, go our separate ways, and that would be that.

I walked over there, cleared my throat. Piercing blue eyes turned from gazing out the window to look at me. "I… wasn't expecting a guy," I said.

He smiled, gaze lingering on my carnation before raking me up and down. "Yeah, me neither," he said. "But," he winked, smiled some more, "I ain't asking for a refund."

Well.

~*~

His name was Chris Keller, and I was having a hard time putting a finger on him.

It only took a few moment's conversation to figure out we must have both been stood up by our actual dates. Left to my own devices, I probably would have gone home to brood about it, or -- come on, Tobias, be honest -- more than likely fueled up on my favorite pain relief over at the bar. Keller, though, he appeared to take the whole thing in stride and look on the entire turn of events like some kind of serendipity. Maybe you could do that when getting stood up was a really novel experience. At least, it was hard to imagine that, having a chance to be with him, anyone would turn it down.

Now, why he wanted to keep me around -- well, that was one of the things I couldn't quite pin down yet. Figuring it out, though, yes, that could make for a better alternative to breaking all my promises by getting smashed.

Although my resolve that way might have stood a better chance if a waiter hadn't come over and set two pina coladas down in front of us.

"Ah," I looked at the glass, cool and creamy, calling to me, and as a rule I don't even like pina coladas, "we didn't order these."

Snappy in black trousers, white shirt and tie, and red vest, the waiter said, "Compliments of the house. Free pina coladas for every couple tonight," he added and took off.

Well, that was very enlightened of him, even if it was expressed in the midst of a comedy of errors. I was fine with that. That glass sitting there on its little napkin, appearing so harmless and innocent, that was preying on my mind.

My dilemma didn't go unnoticed. Keller took a sip of his drink, licking his lips clean of the trace of cream clinging to them, watching me all the while. "You just gonna look at it all night?"

"If I know what's good for me." I sighed and watched a little too avidly as he took another drink, clearly savoring the taste. "Good?"

Head cocked slightly, a dubiously amused spark in his eyes, Keller offered his glass to me. "You just want a taste?"

Yes; yes, just a taste, the barest sampling, and then that would be enough. I accepted the glass from him, the lingering brush of his fingers against mine the focus of all my attention for an instant. Unnerved by that, I tried to concentrate on the intimately familiar: cupping the glass between my palms and inhaling the mingled aromas of rum, pineapple, and coconut; a mist of condensation cool against my skin. I brought it to my lips, letting my eyes drift shut as I tilted the glass so its contents would slowly kiss my lips and spill just as gradually into my mouth. I held the mouthful there, soft and wet on my tongue, saturating my taste buds as it rolled and swirled before being finally swallowed down.

I let out a deep sigh of satisfaction and opened my eyes, finding Keller watching me keenly, lips parted slightly and a ragged sound to his breath. Not sure what to make of that, I handed the glass back to him. "Thanks, that hit the spot."

"Yeah," he breathed out, "ya got that right." He knocked back a visible gulp of his own, evidently less inclined to relish the nuance. "So," he looked over at me, thoughtful, like he was working things out, "you and booze don't get along?"

"Oh no," I reached out to run a caressing finger around the rim of my own glass, "we get along just dandy. That's the problem," I added, giving him a rueful look.

"Yeah, I hear that, Toby." He said it that simply, that easily; like he'd always known me, and always called me Toby. And actually, it kind of felt good. Made me want to call him Chris.

Smiling, I said, "So guess if you were planning on getting me drunk and having your wicked way with me, that's out." I'd meant it to come out all snarky and stuff, but the words had taken on a playful air leaving my mouth, and I had to wonder just how much rum had been in that one swallow of pina colada.

Chris gave me a mock look of surprise and said, "Damn, you figured me out. Guess I gotta Plan B it now," he finished, flashing me a smile that lit up the bar's interior.

Guess we both would, because I didn't think I'd be asking That's Amore for my money back, either.

I took off my glasses to polish the lenses, and asked him, "What were you planning tonight?"

He shrugged. "Go out to dinner, maybe take in a movie. Mine said she loved going to the movies." He studied my face all over again and, when I made to put my glasses back on, laid his fingers against my wrist to stop me. "Leave 'em off."

Huffing, I gave him a hard look. "Because…?"

"You look better. Or at least pick out a pair that don't look like your mom got them for you."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Blackwell," I grumbled, locating my snark now.

Unfazed, Chris just smiled back at me. "Mostly that was a compliment, Toby."

I knew that. I just wasn't sure what to make of it, so I tried to steer things back on track, suggesting we could go grab something to eat, if he wanted. He did; I just kept getting this feeling he had something in mind beyond meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

~*~

Well, this was a bust, Diane Wittesley was concluding as she had one last look around O'Malley's. No artistic, classic movie loving guy to be seen anywhere. Damn, his letters had been really good too, not at all like something written by a spineless weasel who couldn't be bothered to actually show up. Well, fuck him. There were plenty of fish in the sea if she was really feeling desperate.

Gathering up her purse, she slid off the barstool and headed for the door, coming to a dead stop as she passed one of the window booths and spotted another woman sitting there by herself, a red carnation tucked into the reddish hair tumbling around her horsey face.

Oh for… Hastily cramming her own carnation into her purse, Diane muttered, "I'm not that desperate," to herself, and hurried on out.

~*~

My no-show of a date had listed long walks in the park as one of her favorite things, but I was guessing right about now she would be complaining about getting caught in the rain, and how it was going to ruin her hair. Chris didn't seem to mind. The wet pavement reflecting the street lights and neon signs, he turned his face up into the rain, laughing like it felt good as a hot shower.

"You don't get out much, do you?" I said, enjoying his sensual pleasure in the natural phenomenon.

He tossed me another of those huge smiles. "Don't they say you gotta stop and smell the roses, Toby?"

"I guess they do."

Actually, like me, he didn't get out that much, not like this. I knew a lot about Christopher Keller now, after our leisurely dinner down at a little Italian place he'd suggested. The ad firm he worked for, as art director, had done a campaign for them that was paying off nicely; I'd seen the ads, had even thought of checking the place out, and knew I'd be back again soon.

He was cynical about the job, of course, the way I sometimes felt about some of the law I practiced, telling me he'd had two ways to go, follow in his old man's footsteps and become a con artist, or get into advertising -- "Selling a product or shares in a pyramid scheme, it's all the same; you're peddling dreams and lies either way." I had a hunch it gave him some satisfaction, though, however intermittent, just like once in a while I handled a case that really mattered and that I believed in. He had it better than me that way, though, in that in his downtime he could create real art that was his alone.

He was divorced too, four times -- twice from the same woman; no kids tangled up in the ruins of his marriages, though. He didn't have any family nagging him to get back out there and find someone else, either, but like me had signed up with the matchmaking service on a whim.

Funny how whimsies could turn out so well sometimes.

"We gonna see each other again, Toby?" he asked, trying to make it lighthearted, but I'd caught a glimpse of something wistful in his eyes.

And I had never expected to find myself in a situation like this. "I'm not sure, Chris." I had to say that; it was only the truth. "I'm … not gay."

He touched my face, something regretful lingering in his smile. "You ever checked to make sure?"

Frowning, I asked, "And just how would I do that?"

"Well," his knuckles brushed my cheek, "a kiss might tell you a lot."

No doubt. "Might not reveal what you want to hear," I told him, and wondered when he'd gotten that close to me, so close I could feel his breath against my skin.

"That's always a chance," he whispered, his lips already so close to mine that it hardly took any effort to let them graze together. It wasn't much, hardly anything at all, and not nearly enough evidence to make any kind of valid evaluation. So I curved a hand around the back of his neck and held him there for another kiss, longer and … yes, yielding much more definitive results this time.

Forehead resting against mine, Chris whispered, "And you're a hundred percent sure you're not gay?"

"Well," we kissed again, and his tongue darting between my lips really kind of tipped the scale, "maybe not a hundred percent."

"Seventy-five?" He kissed me again, tongue flicking against the roof of my mouth.

"Mmmm, maybe sixty/forty," I said, wrapped up in an embrace I felt no urge to escape.

~all~


End file.
